


Getting The Picture

by Lenore



Category: Smallville
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art appreciation, Luthor style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting The Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Cover art by velvetglove.

“So how do you like it?” Lex swept his arm out grandly.

“Um.” Clark could only stare.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? I’m not surprised you’re speechless.”

“Well–”

“I can’t tell you how long it took before Siskos was available to work on it. After his last one-man show, he’s been very much in demand. But it was well worth the wait, don’t you think?”

Clark glanced at the painting again, nervously, thinking maybe he’d just been hallucinating before, hoping everything would be nice and normal if he took a second look. But no. There it was, another picture hidden beneath the big, bright orange squares that Lex seemed so taken with. And not just any picture either, but an _erotic_ one, with nude people clasping each other, nude _men_ , no less. Sweat dampened Clark’s collar and started to trickle down his back.

“So, um–” He shifted his weight. “You had it checked out by an expert and everything? You know, like, x-rayed and stuff?”

“Clark, I bought this directly from the artist. You only go through the whole authentication process when you’re acquiring a work from another collector and even then, you’d only have it x-rayed if there was a serious question about its provenance.”

“But– What if there’s something else under there?” Lex shot him an ‘oh, please’ look. “I mean, don’t artists sometimes reuse canvases? Paint over earlier pictures? Wouldn’t you want to know about that? You know, as a point of interest.”

“Maybe the old masters painted over canvases. And possibly starving young artists still do today. But Siskos is hardly in that category.”

“Well, what if he has a sense of humor or something? And there’s, like, a joke picture under your– big squares.”

“Big squares?” Lex raised an eyebrow at him. “Clark, there’s nothing lurking under this canvas. Trust me. A $200,000 commission is no joking matter, not to me or to Siskos.”

Clark’s mouth fell open. “$200,000?”

“And worth every penny, too.” Lex stared up at the picture with an air of great satisfaction. “Just look at it Clark. Really take it in. Don’t you feel as if you never want to look away?”

He swallowed hard. “It is, uh– kind of interesting.”

He wanted so much to see what Lex did, big blocks of color that were somehow great art. But the harder he stared, the more he saw naked men. One of the figures was pale, smooth everywhere, sprawled on his back, legs eagerly spread. The other was dark-haired, golden-skinned, the muscles of his arms rippling as he held himself above his lover.

Clark’s eyes suddenly went wide, and his heart started to beat too fast. God. The cavorting men looked a lot like the two of them.

“Hey.” Lex touched him lightly on the arm. “You okay?” He frowned. “You seemed kind of far away there for a minute.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” If feeling all swampy inside counted as being fine. “Why don’t we go out, huh? You know, get some air. Maybe have some brunch.”

Lex gave him an odd look. “I guess. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” He took Lex by the arm and practically dragged him to the elevator.

He made sure to keep his eyes down and avoided the painting. What he really didn’t need floating around in his mind’s eye was an epic-scaled image of him having sex with his best friend.

* * *

Of course, this only solved the problem in the short-run. He visited the penthouse several times a week, and there never seemed to be anywhere else to look but right at the painting. To say it unnerved him did not even come close to describing how it felt to walk into a room with a larger-than-life size scene of someone who looked a lot like him on top of someone who looked a lot like Lex.

Okay, not just on top of him but– fucking. He could use the word. The dark man was _fucking_ the beautiful pale one. Clark was in college now. He wasn’t that blushing farm kid anymore. He was allowed to think the word “fucking.” His mother wasn’t going to show up to wash his mind out with soap.

But God. _Fucking_. Fucking that was somehow connected to Lex. Every time he looked at the picture he got hard, instantly, embarrassingly. Was it creepy to react this way? To throw a boner looking at erotic art, not because of the art itself, but because it made him imagine doing the same sticky things to his best friend? His sleek, gorgeous, incredibly good-smelling best friend that he’d always kind of had a thing for, if he was really being honest with himself?

He tried not to think about it. He really did. But Lex didn’t make that easy. He seemed to be going through some kind of demonstrative phase lately. Clark had always been secretly pleased that Lex was more affectionate with him than he was with anyone else. But now, every time he turned around, Lex’s arm was slung over his shoulders or his hand was resting on his back or his fingers were brushing his sleeve. Clark was rock hard pretty much the entire time they were together, and yet, Lex just went blithely on, putting his hands all over him, never once noticing that it was driving Clark totally fucking crazy.

Today was no exception.

Lex met him at the elevator. “Clark! I’m glad you could come over. The Japanese investors I was supposed meet with got delayed in San Francisco, and I suddenly had the afternoon free.” Lex clapped him warmly on the back and left his hand there as he walked him into the apartment.

Clark stared at the floor and tried really hard not to look. But it was just no use. There was Lex’s face twisted in ecstasy in the picture, coupled with the warm weight of Lex’s hand on his shoulder in real life, leaving him totally, royally and in every other way screwed. Not to mention hard.

Lex guided him over to sofa. “Hey, you’re really tense today. Is anything going on?”

“Um. Well–” He wracked his brain for an excuse, but he was just so damned flustered. “Midterms,” he finally blurted out, in totally lame-ass fashion. It was barely the end of September.

“Ah.” Lex gave him an assessing look that lasted an uncomfortably long time. “I know what you need. Turn around.” He put his hand on Clark’s shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked, panicked.

“Jesus, Clark. You’re too young to be this jumpy. Let me help you relax a little.” Lex’s hands started to knead his tight muscles.

Unfortunately, it only served to make that other part of him even stiffer. He scrambled off the couch.

“I think maybe I’d better stand. I’m kind of– I have a charley horse in my calf. From playing basketball the other day. With Pete. You know, the way we do,” he babbled on, pointlessly.

“I could go get the liniment. Try to work it out for you.” Lex got to his feet. “I’ve been told I have great hands.” He smiled in the glinting way that made Clark nervous even under the best of circumstances, which these definitely were not. “You’ll just need to take off your pants and I’ll be right back–”

“No!” Clark yelped. “I, um–” He shook his leg, as if testing it. “It’s feeling much better now. Really. Sometimes all it takes is getting up and moving around. You know?”

Lex didn’t look entirely convinced. “If you say so.” He drifted over to stand by Clark. “This does give us the opportunity to admire my painting, which I always enjoy.”

Clark groaned inwardly. He could still feel the residual heat where Lex’s hands had been, and if he had to look at naked, wanton Lex in that picture– God. He was so far beyond screwed he didn’t even know if there _was_ a word for it.

“That old cliché really is true, you know. Beauty does lie in the eye of the beholder. A work of art has as many meanings as there are people to appreciate it. So tell me, Clark, what do you see when you look at this piece?”

“Sex,” he blurted out, buckling under the pressure.

And then promptly froze, utterly horrified. Had he really said that out loud?

But apparently he had, because Lex’s face was alive with interest. “Clark Kent. Much deeper waters than I ever expected. I admit there is a lushness to the colors that gives it a sensual quality. But I’m not sure how you get the female form out of those hard angles.”

“Not female.”

God. He was going to have to wire his stupid mouth shut. What the hell was wrong with him today?

“Really?” Lex was watching him intently. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you see, Clark? I’m quite curious.”

“You know, Lex, this really isn’t my strong suit. I don’t honestly know anything about–”

“I thought you were taking art history?”

“Well, yeah. But I not really doing that well.”

“Then this is an opportunity to practice analyzing an artwork. So what do these men having sex look like?”

“God!” he muttered under his breath. “Like nothing, Lex. They’re just men. No one in particular–”

Lex’s eyes widened. “They remind you of people you know?”

Clark wanted to say something, anything, to get Lex the hell off this subject, but his tongue felt heavy and plodding, and he just couldn’t think.

“Ah,” Lex said, knowingly. “I think I understand.” He slid his hand up Clark’s arm to his shoulder and let it rest there. “Do they look like us, by chance?”

Clark couldn’t look at him. He started to shake, and he had the terrible fear he might fly apart.

“That’s very interesting. So the one who resembles you, what is he doing?” Lex’s voice was right at his ear. When had he gotten that close?

Clark didn’t answer, and Lex squeezed his shoulder. “Come on,” he coaxed. “You can tell me.”

If there was any chance Lex would just let it go, Clark might have stayed silent. But this was Lex. “Um. He’s–” Clark was a junior in college, an adult. He could say it. “He’s– on top.” The heat rushed to his face. Okay, so he couldn’t.

“On top, huh?” The soft puff of Lex’s breath was warm against his cheek. “You mean, he’s fucking the man who looks like me?”

Clark sucked in his breath. “Oh, God.”

He felt Lex’s lips against his neck. “Lucky painting.”

Clark’s head was spinning. All the blood in his body had fled south, and he must have been too light-headed to hear properly. Because he really thought Lex had said–

Lex pulled him closer, his mouth hot against Clark’s throat. “Do you think there’s any chance I could get that lucky?”

“Fuck!” Okay, so he wasn’t just hearing things, because that was definitely Lex’s erection pressed against his hip.

He felt Lex’s smile on his skin. “Is that what you want, Clark? To fuck me?”

Clark groaned. “Yeesssss! God. I want to fuck you. And suck you. And everything else. And I always have.”

“Good.” Lex pulled back, his face glowing with triumph.

He set on Clark with real fervor then, deep, penetrating kisses that left Clark breathless and shaking, hands roaming at will, one working its way under his shirt, the other down his pants, clutching and stroking and groping.

Clark tried to hold on and keep up and wrap his poor beleaguered brain around the fact that this was really Lex. And really him. And they were really, _really_ going to have sex.

Lex finally pulled back, gasping, his face bright red from excitement and a decided lack of oxygen. “Go to my bedroom. I’ll be right there. I just have to–”

Of course. He needed to get stuff. So they could save sex. The realization zinged through Clark like a hot jolt of electricity.

“Okay.” He gave Lex a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss. “But hurry.”

“I will. I promise.” Lex looked like his skin was pulled just a little bit too tight, and the cords stood out on the side of his neck.

Clark smiled to himself. Good. That meant he wasn’t going to have to wait too long.

He took one last look at the painting as he left the room, and this time, it seemed like a promise, not a taunt.

 _Finally!_ he thought, as he scurried off to Lex’s bed.

* * *

Lex waited until Clark was all the way day the hall. Then he quickly dialed his office, while he ransacked his desk drawer for the lube and condoms he kept there just in case financial reports and fertilizer contracts ever started to turn Clark on.

“Yeah, Stephanie,” he said, when his assistant picked up. “I want you to send Siskos the last part of his payment. Let him know that the special project he did for me was a big success. Great. Yeah. No, I won’t be back in the office today. Not sure about tomorrow, either. Okay. Thanks.”

He threw down the phone and picked up the supplies. He glanced up at the seriously ugly orange squares on his wall.

 _Finally!_ he thought, as he rushed off to join Clark.


End file.
